Alley Cats
by SlvrSoleAlchmst1
Summary: Some shounen ai: Matt x Mello. First there was a night club. Then a mascot leopard. A drag queen and an excursion on the dance floor. Rammstein, leather pants, gay men in the bathroom. Now there's a sequel. This one. Ye of higher tastes, flee the scene.


_A/N: I don't even know what to say about this._

_It's been months since I wrote The Red Leopard during my semester abroad in London, and still, reviews come in to tell me how much people enjoyed it. My response is usually, "Augh, but WHY?!" Seriously, guys — what does liking content like _that_ say about your tastes? I have no hope for your futures. And yet, I realize that I might have crafted something kind of awesome. By now, any grudges I hold against The Red Leopard are superficial. Rather than tear at my hair and scream, "Am I going to hell for being politically incorrect?!" now I look at my foray into mass bad language and chuckle. That's because of you readers._

_So, to thank you all, I wrote a sequel. I know what people think of sequels, but I gave it my best shot. I'm dedicating it to my friend Maddy, who has been beyond patient in waiting for it. (YOU HEAR THAT, MADDY? I LOVE YOU! Look for your musical cue in the text, hehe.) She loved The Red Leopard so much that she asked me if she could make a Flash animation based off of it. So now, the Red Leopard club is in the early stages of animation. That was when I did a giant facepalm and finalized my decision about a sequel…. I also want to say thank you to everyone that I went to Anime Evolution with._

_I LOVE EVERYONE. THANK YOU. Enjoy your politically incorrect (and factually, grammatically, and morally incorrect) sequel. :D_

"Why is it always an alleyway, Matt?" Mello asked, while Matt rolled his eyes at the question he thought had an obvious answer. "We're always in an _alleyway_. I don't see the problem with using a regular street. Why the constant skulking?"

Matt ground to a halt, peeling off his goggles and pivoting around to face Mello in the narrow back alley. The blond had a point, he supposed, but now really wasn't the time to get hung up on setting.

Alleys. What was wrong with alleys? They couldn't exactly waltz down a _street_ with a leopard in tow, and if they wanted to go unnoticed, an alley was the perfect place to be. Matt had made use of such narrow, dirty passages more than once in his lifetime. They were a good place to go to have a smoke when he didn't want to be bothered. He'd stand against an old dumpster, or a brick wall with rust streaks from drainage pipes, and he'd chill until it was time to flick his butt to the ground and scuff it out. Not to mention that he'd stashed quite a few things in back alleys over the years — especially things that he shouldn't have had in the first place because they weren't exactly his. His old moped used to nestle between two garbage bins… but that was before he'd crashed it.

Mello was still glaring at him, so Matt figured it was time to employ his defense. He put his hands on his hips.

"Okay. First of all, if we're always in alleys, it's because alleys are badass. You can't tramp the city in leather and goggles like you and I do and not expect to end up in a back alley now and then. It's a matter of image. I like to think that despite your Madonna thing, we make the alley cat spiel look appropriately dangerous."

Mello sneered. Matt flung an arm out and pointed to the leopard that stood nudging an old newspaper a few feet away. "And second of all, while we're on cats — that thing. If we're skulking in alleys, it's because of this creepy leopard, so don't blame me."

The big cat snuffled at the newspaper, deeply offended.

"Sorry," Matt told it with a glance at its spotted coat. He scuffed a foot sheepishly against the asphalt.

"Matt, that cat can't even _understand_ you," Mello hissed, teeth clenched in a nutcracker grimace. "I can't believe you dragged me out of the bathroom for a charade like this."

Matt tossed his hands into the air. "The only reason we got _into_ the bathroom in the first place is because this jungle cat is creepy and awesome!"

There followed a long stretch of silence.

"…No, Matt. That is not why."

"Oh, just shut up."

"We got in there because I knocked aside a drag queen and intimidated a couple stalls full of horny gay men…."

"I don't want to hear about it." Matt blocked his ears and scrunched his eyes closed. "La la laaah, Mello's a manwhore and has no soft spot for animals that people keep locked up in clubssss…." His eyes flew open again when he felt a pull on both his arms. He found himself two inches from an irate Mello.

"See that door?" It was Mello's turn to point, and he released one of Matt's arms to do so. "That's the back door to the Red Leopard. And no one saw us leaving from it. Do you mean to tell me that we stole a few minutes alone in the middle of my infiltration plan so that you could promote animal rights instead of finish what we started in the bathroom?"

Matt fixed his gaze on the door. The tail of the club's mascot swished in his peripherals, and Mello was watching him as he tried to craft an answer. Jesus, it wasn't easy balancing his conscience with his penis. What choice did Matt have if he wanted to help the cat? Granted, he'd had Mello against the wall, writhing, scraping fingers along his shoulder blades, babbling to him about acting gay and god only knows what else, and Matt had liked it. Shit, he had _craved _it, but after the leopard had walked out of the end stall to surprise them, well… that had just been fucking weird. And to tell the truth, the mood of the moment had kind of been spoiled. So Matt had zipped up his fly and suggested that they get some air.

He probably should have specified that he meant to take the leopard with them, to help it escape. Not to finish up with Mello in an alley while the muted beat of club music provided the harmony to their melody of fornication.

"Earth to zebra stripes," Mello seethed, fisting Matt's black and white shirt. The blond opened his mouth to further the insult, but Matt grinned and interrupted.

"Don't you mean leopard spots?"

"Damn it, Matt!" Mello released his hold and stormed down to the far end of the alley. Matt admired Mello's ass from behind. The leopard abandoned its old newspaper wad to circle Matt once and rub against his leg.

"All right, you want to help the cat escape?" Mello slapped a hand against the mesh diamond fence that blocked off the end of the alleyway. "Get over here and we'll lift it over the fence."

Matt looked at the leopard. The big cat yawned, circled him again, and settled into a crouch.

"He thinks your escape idea is shitty, Mello."

Mello growled. "For the last time, leopards can't understand humans. He's got claws, doesn't he? We can lift him up, and he can do the rest — jump down the other side and escape to wherever he wants to go." Mello flexed his fingers behind his fitted gloves. "No one saw us leave the club, but someone likely noticed us when we finally came out of the bathroom. You think we didn't get tattled on? That whole place is mafia run, and we're outsiders. I wormed my way into the old boss's good graces, but a charade like ours is bound to have been acknowledged. We cleared that whole bathroom just so we could fuck around, Matt."

Matt resisted the urge to pull the clichéd _we?_ card from his deck of comebacks.

"And that the leopard is with us now only makes it worse. Someone inside will miss it."

"So what are you saying, that we're fucked?" Matt caught a sly glance from the leopard at his feet, and he decided that the animal was smirking at their predicament.

"If we save the cat within the next two minutes and get back inside, maybe I'll have time to make up a story to cover our asses," Mello offered in explanation.

Matt wiggled his toes to get the feline to move. The leopard stretched and got up off his boots, preceding Matt to the chain-link fence to stand alongside the anxious blond.

"You didn't tell me that this place was mob _run_, only that the mob was here," Matt said darkly. Of all the unpleasant surprises he could have gotten that night — strip teases and drag queens aside — this had to be the olive in the martini. They hadn't just jumped into a gay club; they'd plunged into a mafia nest. Mello averted his eyes, and Matt decided there was no sense in bitching about it.

A lot had happened, but he couldn't exactly claim that anything had turned out bad. Hell, Matt had gotten a piece of Mello out on the dance floor. Not long before that, he'd been trying to convince himself to axe-murder his desire. As far as he'd known, Mello didn't get boners over guys. So Matt had tried to conjure up a line of imaginary female strippers to give him lap dances instead…. Which would have been a fine distraction if only his imagination possessed powers of tangibility. Then, just before Matt had resigned himself to shots of tequila, the situation had turned around. Mello had put the moves on Matt unexpectedly. Quite a gay dance session had ensued, Matt reflected.

They'd come a long way in one night of clubbing, hadn't they? He let a smirk curl one side of his mouth. Maybe the potential threat they faced now was even kind of a turn on. A bonus thrill.

A reason not to waste more time.

Matt ran his eyes down the length of Mello's body. His pale skin was awash with orange light from the streetlamp on the alley's far side, where another fence marked the boundary to the main street. Every so often a shadow crossed Mello's figure to envelope him in darkness — people passing through the lamp's light as they strolled by on the distant sidewalk. None of them glanced down the alley. Matt reflected for a long moment, weighing the risks. If he wanted, he could have Mello now, in the slickness of the summer humidity. In addition to a few drinks and a pornographic dance fest. After a half-encounter in the bathroom. Right outside the world's weirdest nightclub.

The mascot leopard pawed the fence, and it rattled.

And up against a chain-linked fence.

Matt felt desire speeding through him like a sugar-high, and he welcomed it anew. He licked his lips and met Mello's gaze. It was dark and glazed with lust.

Mello's thoughts had wandered to the gutter right beside his. "Screw the leopard for a few minutes," the blond breathed as Matt drew closer, his eyes on Matt's mouth.

Matt kept his face straight. "Do you get hard watching that sort of thing?"

"Fuck, Matt — you know what I meant! Don't waste my time."

Mello didn't have to tell him twice. The leopard bounded off to the side to avoid the drama as Matt gripped the blond hard by the hindquarters and slammed him against the diamond-patterned surface. Their hips collided with the force of impact — a wanton thrust and heated friction — and pale hands flew to Matt's red hair. Matt attacked Mello's neck with gusto.

"Ah— _ahh_, don't stop!" Mello's head went back as he groaned. Matt's fingers returned to between Mello's legs, where they'd been when they'd left off inside the bathroom. The laces came loose with minimal effort. Matt smirked against the skin of Mello's neck. Mello hadn't bothered to tie them back up. He relished the way Mello's grip twisted more roughly against his scalp. He wouldn't stop. Not this time, anyway.

There came a tug on the leg of his jeans.

Matt ignored it. Mello was letting him unzip his vest bit by bit with his free hand, letting him trail his lips down the exposed skin in little twirling motions. Damn, until tonight Matt had never seen Mello this way. It was something delicious and new, and he'd wanted so badly to discover it….

The tug came again. Matt cracked an eye open; there was an insistent flick of a golden tail at his side. He didn't want to acknowledge the feline. The creature had made things awkward for them the _first _time. Matt closed his eyes and murmured hotly against Mello's skin in an attempt to remain in his zone of lust and hormones.

"Mmff — what is it you want, kitty?" It came out half a groan.

Mello moved his grip to Matt's shoulders. "Oh god, I want you to quit teasing and just fucking—" He stopped when Matt pulled back. "Hey, what the fuck?"

"Sorry. The cat wants my attention," Matt explained.

Mello's features contorted like a grotesque tiki face. "Excuse me? That cat is nothing but a nuisance! Besides, _I want your attention more._"

Mello surged forward and locked a hand behind Matt's neck, pulling him in for a kiss that tasted like a chocolate cocktail. He bit Matt's lower lip and slid his other hand down to grip him through his jeans.

The leopard began to pace the length of fence to their right, insulted.

Matt faltered when Mello showed no signs of yielding. He wondered if he could change Mello's mind about the mascot feline by rousing the blond's inner animal lover. "You wanna pet it?" he asked around Mello's tongue, praying that his distraction would have the desired effect.

Mello withdrew his hand from Matt's crotch and backed up as if burned. "What? What the hell does that even _mean? _You're so gay!Are you asking me to pet your—"

"I meant pet the leopard," Matt clarified quickly. "To show you that he's really not so ba— hey, _gay?_ Fuck you! You started this when that skyscraper dude tried to pick you up in there. I was just trying to help you out by kissing you, but then you started eating my face for real. If anyone's gay, it's you. Fairy."

"At least I'm not confused," Mello shot back.

"Then you admit to being a homo?"

"I didn't say that!"

The leopard flopped onto the ground.

Mello balled his hands into fists. "Matt, I've had about enough of this bullshit with—"

"What exactly is going on out here?" The inquiry came from the other end of the alley.

At once Matt realized that the pulsating music from inside the club had grown louder while they were bickering. The door had opened and someone had come outside, dragging rhythm in his wake. Matt froze.

Mello lifted his eyes to address the speaker over Matt's shoulder — cool as frosted glass. "Going on?" he repeated. "I had something to take care of, but I don't see how it's anyone else's business." He splayed a hand against Matt's chest and pushed him away, moving a step forward to brush golden hair away from his eyes.

Mello appeared unruffled. Matt watched the motion, admiring the way Mello prevented his surprise from reflecting in his body language. The blond was slightly stiff in the torso, and there was a bead of sweat forming on the side of his neck, but Matt knew that Mello would never give an adversary a chance to notice such details. Matt only knew because he paid attention to those things.

He recovered from the blond's shove and turned his gaze toward the alley intruder.

A pair of black cowboy boots came into focus, followed by a pair of dark pants. Matt's eyes traveled up what seemed a mile, to meet the face of the skyscraper that had bought Mello a drink.

Matt opened his mouth before he could stop himself. "Oh great — you're the one who started this shit," he accused.

Mello tensed a little. "Matt." It was a whispered warning. Matt fumed, and the cowboy man laughed.

"Don't get your chaps in a burn," he said, shifting his weight onto both boots like a sheriff about to quick-draw. "My name's Rand. I just came to fetch the blond one."

Mello didn't move, but Matt felt his stomach go sour at the knowing smirk on the cowboy's face. With a nauseated jolt he realized that he and Mello had been spotted against the chain-link fence. Rand swept his eyes over Mello before fixing Matt with a grin that suggested it was time for revenge.

"He's too good for you," Rand told Matt next, nodding in Mello's direction and monitoring them both with an amused glint in his eyes. "He'd do better inside with us."

"Is this another attempt to get me to go for a _stroll_?" Mello snapped, readjusting his gloves and avoiding Matt's eyes as he aimed to sear the cowboy with his words.

Mello wasn't offered an answer. Rand merely motioned to the club's door.

Matt decided it was an unspoken come-on.

He closed the distance between the tall man and himself in six steps and looked his adversary in the eye. "I thought I told you that you only get one freebie." But Rand was paying him no attention. With a gnash of his teeth, Matt noticed that the man was shooting Mello a look of exasperation over his head, one eyebrow raised and a frown above his five o'clock shadow. "Hey," Matt said, "I'm fucking talking to you."

Suddenly Mello let out a snort of realization. "So that's it," he said, speaking to Rand. Matt whirled around to face Mello in confusion as the blond folded his arms over his chest. "Fine. I want to talk to your boss. Now."

"Before he gets upset about the leopard," the skyscraper fellow added. "Because we haven't been able to find it for some time now."

Matt lifted a hand to the strap of his goggles and tugged at them in bewilderment. He glanced furtively around the alley for a sign of the leopard that he'd forgotten about in his haste to defend himself. He failed to detect a hint of spots. For the creature's own sake, Matt hoped it was hiding safe under some egg crate. He glanced back between Mello and Rand, his irritation no longer something he could reign in. "What the fuck is—" Rand canted his head when Mello held up his hands to prove he wasn't armed, and it clicked. "Oh. _Oh_. Brokeback Mountain here is with the mafia."

Rand moved toward the door and addressed Mello. "You should come back inside the Leopard. But you had better not make any more trouble. We had some… complaints… about the restroom."

Mello stalked over to the door when the cowboy held out an arm to guide him ahead. "Fair enough," the blond said. Matt grumbled and began to follow, but a palm slapped onto his shoulder, and he glanced up at his adversary.

"I'm not so sure I trust you," Rand told Matt quietly. "Our rookie kid has had his eye on you all night, and he says you were… talking to our mascot leopard. Quite enthusiastically."

Matt flexed his hands defensively, cursing the cat that was nowhere in sight. "What, talking to pets makes me weird? Who's at a goth nightclub in cowboy boots, hanging out with the mafia Fay Brigade?" Rand looked unconvinced. "Fine. Maybe I'll stay out here, and keep a lookout in case you mobster dickheads decide to pull anything weird. Like calling in a team of homosexual strip dancers with guns to take out my partner, or something gay like that." Matt noticed Rand casting Mello a wary glance. Matt looked at the blond, then back at the cowboy suggestively, sure he could read the man's mind. "Hmm, you're right. Strippers with guns wouldn't be enough to stop him. You'd better hope your boss says yes and lets him into the business."

Mello had his back to them, but his shoulders seemed to square off and assert the claim. Matt relished a curl of something sinister inside himself when Rand blinked, uncertain.

"He's really a loaded gun, isn't he?" Matt finished. "You felt him move yourself on the dance floor. Makes you want to fuck him right through the leather, doesn't it?"

Matt took a terrorizing blow to the stomach for his insolence.

The air whooshed from his chest as his gut got pummeled into his diaphragm. He went staggering across the pavement until a trash bin to his shoulder broke his fall. Somewhere in the haze of pain, he saw Mello flinch at the sight.

Well, shit. Cowboy man was angry.

"Wait for me here," Mello said to Matt softly, nodding to the skyscraper that stood cracking his knuckles. The door to the club opened, rock music pouring out into the night as the two of them melded back into the sweaty, churning depths of dancers. Matt's ears were ringing; he could hardly make out the tune.

…_wanna make you move, because you're standing st—_

The door slammed after them, and Matt decided that he was sick of having his night do one-eighties on him.

He rubbed his shoulder. "I just got my ass kicked."

A flash of gold glinted in the dim alley light, and the leopard sauntered out from behind a pile of cardboard boxes to stretch its paws.

"And where the hell were you, spotty?" Matt exploded. "Jungle cats are supposed to be fierce. I need to train you to rip the testicles off anyone who gets between me and sex with Mello. Enemies without balls means there's no one that'll confront me." He chewed his lip and wondered how much gall it took to oppose a squad of gun-toting strippers. "And besides, this mafia thing isn't worth it at this point."

He watched the leopard move to the concrete wall across from the boxes and park itself on its hindquarters. "Yeah, you're right. I give up. This night sucks." He crossed to the wall and slid down it, resting his elbows on his knees.

Mello was inside that stupid club again. Matt leaned over and groaned into his arms. He wanted to blow the place up for being so obnoxiously homosexual. Fuck Mello and his stupid urge to become a member of the mafia! Weren't there other ways to do it? Okay, so Mello had already won over a retired bartender boss and gotten a good word in with the live mafia flunkies. So the flunkies had contacted the _current_ mob boss, and now the boss wanted to talk to Mello. Inside a wild, flaming nightclub? Matt didn't understand the hullabaloo. What ever happened to good old-fashioned bribery and extortion over cappuccino?

"This is so gay!" Matt yelled. The leopard put its chin on his shoulder to sooth him. "Don't get sappy on me, you," he told it gruffly. "I don't need a pity party. I just need a way to get this damn club shut down or something. That would make me piss my pants with joy."

The leopard snuffled, reproachful.

"Oh, come on — you gotta be kidding me. They kept you in there with that loud music for _how_ long? Admit it — you wouldn't care if the place went up in flames." A golden tail swished gently. "It'll have to now. The only way you'll get out is if you blast your way though and slink off in the chaos. I can't lift you over the fence on my own. You're too old to jump it. And I can't say 'peace out' and leave you in Leopard La La Land. I'd feel like shit." Matt paused. "And I'm talking to a cat again."

The beat of the music vibrated the ground where Matt sat, pulsating and quick like some renegade heartbeat. Mello could be anywhere in there, and now Matt wasn't doing his job. There were probably bouncers stationed at the doors by now, to make sure that Matt and his homo wisecracks couldn't get back inside…. He slipped a cigarette from his pocket and tucked it between his lips — practically groaned when he tasted the familiar flavor. He'd wanted one so badly, ever since he'd first seen Mello dance out on the floor. Granted, earlier he'd wanted a smoke because he hadn't believed that he could win Mello over, but the finer details didn't matter when he dug into his pack at last. Frustration equaled cigarette, and once more Matt was frustrated. Mello was an enigma. Matt had no idea what the blond wanted.

_L knew how to play a role….._

But was Mello still playing? He hadn't seemed like it, but what if he was? What if it was just to pass the time while they were at the club? What if Mello had only engaged in naughty things with Matt because he knew the mafia was watching to see if he knew how to blend? Matt's lighter clicked on and the flame lit up the alley in front of him.

The leopard lifted its head off Matt's shoulder and retreated an indignant step away.

"You don't like my smoking? Yeah, I figured. Tough shit, spotty — you got another way out of this?" Matt puffed hard on his cancer stick. "God damn it, isn't it just like Mello to play down everything and act like it's not a giant clusterfuck. 'Come on, Matt, let's go to a club so I can get into the mafia.'" He let his voice rise an octave, the feminine imitation a tribute to his irritation with the ever-tempting blond. "'But don't worry, it's not a flaming gay club or anything. The entire staff of bouncers does not consist of Italian men in the Family.'" Matt paused. "Oy, wait a minute. Does the mafia even _allow_ homosexuality?"

The leopard got up and meandered to the door.

"Shit. What if cowboy dude was acting, too? What if _acting gay_ is how this branch of the mafia keeps hidden, or some whacked out shit like that?" The twitch of a furry ear. "Mello didn't answer when I asked if the bartender was gay. And Clint Eastwood hit me when I insinuated that he was attracted to Mello while we were _outside_ the club…. Jesus!" Matt sprung up from the ground and thwarted the life of his cigarette with a toe. "They're a bunch of mobsters acting like homos! Mello knew it all along!" Matt yanked at his hair and paced the length of the alley like a madman, while the leopard retreated away from his tirade.

There was a catch, and that catch was dangerous. Mello's near-fornication with Matt had been _genuine_. It had to have been. Mello was… truly gay? And Matt was confused. And the mafia was the mafia, so they probably didn't like homos. It was all well and dandy for Mello to pretend to be a straight guy acting gay, but if anyone found out that he was actually a gay guy enjoying his gayness and not straight at all….

"I need to get the fuck back in there," Matt concluded. He moved to keep up with the jungle cat as it led him back to the door.

With one hand on the knob, Matt paused.

"Hey. Spotty." The cat gave him no reply. Matt looked into its rheumy amber eyes. "You know, if you come back in here with me, you probably won't get the chance to escape again. You could stay out here, and maybe eventually you'd find a way around the fence. Chew through it? I wouldn't think any less of you if you wanted to try."

The leopard didn't move. Matt bit his lip. "Come on, you damn weird feline. You've done enough for Mello and I." He scratched beneath the strap of his goggles and frowned. "Er, though I don't exactly know _what_ you did, other than be a nuisance like Mello said you were, now that I think of it…." Matt looked down to find the cat quietly butting its head against the door in an attempt to push it open.

"Hey, take it easy, feline." He knelt, and the leopard turned around to face him. "You wanna go in, we'll go in. Whatever happens though, thanks for listening." Matt wound his arms around the creature's muscular shoulders and buried his face in its sleek, spotted fur. It licked his ear fondly.

Matt took a deep breath and stood again. "Okay, kitty, let's go get Mello out of this jam." He opened the door and checked for bouncers.

There was no one waiting for him. He slipped inside unnoticed.

The atmosphere inside was as constant as it had been earlier that night. A writhing mass of club-goers got close on the dance floor, swimming in what looked like an acid-trip of colored lights, frenetic and hallucinatory. Chains and studs glinted. A pair of guys in fishnet shirts jumped around on the corner stage, each one with a microphone in hand. They screamed along with the rock lyrics that spilled from the speakers, while the mass of people giggled, cheered, and kept on dancing. Flashes of red and black spotted carpet emerged whenever bodies shifted place. The bartender handed someone a glittering Cosmopolitan.

The mascot leopard had already zigzagged its way back to the nestled arrangement of couch and coffee table along the painted wall, and now surveyed its domain like a sphinx.

Matt grew warm as the tidal wave that was the Red Leopard washed his senses awake. Every nerve within him tingled with life and electricity. He made his way into the thick of it for the second time, and damn it, but… he almost cherished the feeling that it stirred in him.

Almost.

It didn't take him long to locate Mello. The blond was at the back end of the bar, engaged in conversation with Captain Cowboy. Much to his irritation, Matt noticed another chocolate martini in Mello's hand. The bartender was keeping his eye on both of them, but no one had seen Matt yet.

Just to be safe, he ducked behind a pair of girls that he'd seen at the start of the night. When he threw them a secretive little wave, the butch-looking one flipped him off. Matt grinned and pressed on through the crowd. This place would probably never change.

Maybe he didn't want it to. Matt looked to the leopard on the couch. It seemed to be winking at him.

When he reached the halfway point and the bar was in clear view, Matt observed that Mello had not yet ventured to sip his new martini. He held it delicately in his gloved fingers, but it was aloft to one side. Matt grinned. Mello had no intention of drinking it.

Something brushed against Matt from behind, and he turned around and looked down, expecting something feline and slinky to be waiting for him. Instead, his eyes fell on a very unfeminine bulge at the crotch of a tight black skirt. Matt's eyes traveled upward, over a pair of breasts that looked a mite too perky and a pair of thin lips painted mauve.

"Hey sweetheart," the drag queen said over the pounding bass music. "Wanna have some fun for a song or two?"

Matt glanced over at the couch again. The leopard was conveniently examining an empty highball glass on the coffee table.

Matt turned back to the stilettoed male and grinned.

"I'd love to," he said, surrendering to the gayness with class this time, to humor his spotted pet. He hoped the feline had been watching. Then he frowned. "But do you see that vampire of a leather fiend over there?" He pointed at Mello. "He actually means a lot to me. I've gotta go get him out of a scrape."

"Geez, that's quite the situation. He's with another man and everything," the drag queen grimaced, sucking in air through his teeth as he took in the predicament at the end of the bar. "At least he hasn't touched his drink. You still have a chance, hot shot. Go get him."

"My thoughts exactly," Matt said, bestowing a friendly pat on a heavily powdered cheekbone to further embrace the art of the gender-bend. Why not? There were worse things. "You see that kid with the bullet belt? Ask him to dance and make his night worth something. I'm pretty sure he got in on a fake ID. Carpe diem before he gets caught and all that."

The drag queen batted sparkly eyelashes. "You bet, baby! Good luck, and save me a dance if you stick around."

Matt wiggled his fingers in a wave and continued to meander toward the bar. When he reached the row of stools and cocktail menus, his two targets looked up.

"I thought you were staying outside," Mello exclaimed.

Matt's eyes were locked on Rand as he replied. "Nah. The party's in here. Any luck seeing the boss?"

"He hasn't arrived yet," Rand answered calmly. "Relax and have a drink like your friend here." He didn't seem to notice that Mello hadn't bothered to taste his martini. Matt narrowed his eyes.

With a quick word to the bartender, he ordered a gin and tonic and leaned against the polished wood of the bar on the other side of Mello's stool. His drink came clear and bubbly; Matt pushed the lime around the inside of the glass. Mello's eyes were darting to and fro across the scene, but he didn't question Matt further. Maybe they would still get out of the club alive.

"You two seem close," Rand observed to pass the time.

It was the opening Matt had been waiting for. He sank his fangs into the opportunity like a serpent to a tawny mouse.

"You sound as if you're already sure of our relationship," he said, sipping his gin and tonic in small bursts while his heart pounded a furious tattoo. "In fact, I think you've been monitoring us all night to figure out just what our relationship _is_." Oh gods, if this went awry, Mello was going to kill him. But he had to keep the mafia from finding out that Mello was actually gay. Wasn't that why Matt had come back inside the club? He'd crafted a plan somewhere between the alley and the drag queen, and now all he had to do was follow through. It would get Mello in the clear. But he'd probably be screwing himself in the process.

Matt to the rescue.

Rand was regarding him with curiosity. "At first it looked like one of you might have been using the other as cover. But you're partners, aren't you."

Mello opened his mouth to let loose a remark, but Matt talked over him, smooth as butter.

"We'd back each other to the last," he revealed.

"Even though the partnership has grown to include quite the array of close-quarter parlor tricks?"

Matt bit down on an ice cube.

"That doesn't make two partners like you a bit… uncomfortable… around each other?" Rand continued.

Matt was tempted to slosh his drink onto Rand's expensive boots, but he reigned in his anger when he noticed that Mello had gone completely still. He couldn't afford to bandy insults at this rate. Mello would lose his temper and blow it for them both if it came to a battle of pride. Perhaps the skyscraper of a mobster before them was more intelligent than Matt had bargained for. But at least the intelligence was something comforting. Matt could fuck with people like that.

He schooled his features into an unreadable mask and swallowed another mouthful of his gin and tonic. "If there's a reason to pull out all the stops, we do what we have to, even if lines get blurred." Rand said nothing. Matt continued while Mello watched them warily. "Take this situation, for example. You're trying to figure out if either of us is actually gay."

Mello twitched, as if he felt the reflex to slap a palm to his face. Matt reserved a smirk for later. Mello knew what he was trying to do now, at least. Even if he didn't like it.

The cowboy answered him with a wry smile. "Why would it matter to me if either of you liked men?" He spread his arms openly. "We're in a gay club splashed with leopard print. I hardly think being gay is an issue." He spoke the last part in a baritone that carried beneath the screeching of the music.

"And yet, I get the feeling it would irk you if the mob were to take on someone as pretty as this blond, especially if he sucked dick," Matt exclaimed crudely. He slung an arm over Mello's shoulder and watched Rand for a reaction.

"Not so," came the expected rebuke. "I think you saw me with him earlier, before you came to sweep him off yourself. I'm the boss's right hand, and if _I_ can find another man appetizing, I have no right to preach about the preferences of—"

"Aw, don't lie like that. If my buddy here were to infiltrate, you know he'd win over _everyone_ with his brains and his appeal, not just you. All your tough gangster men with guns. What kind of image would that give your branch of the mafia? You'd suddenly find yourself being led around by a teenager in tight leather, and you're too smart for that. You don't mind _hiding_ in the middle of a bunch of homos, but one so pretty in _your_ midst is a threat. You've been trying all night to slap a label onto his orientation just so that you know what you're really up against."

A glint lit in Rand's eyes.

Matt knew what they really ought to do was get up and walk away. Find another branch of the mafia to infiltrate — a stupider group of criminals that wouldn't be able to foresee the power that Mello would eventually hold over them. The problem was that this skyscraper man — this booted cowboy — was too damn smart. He'd already realized Mello's potential, and with intelligence came arrogance. Rand thought he could avoid having to bow down to a blond vampiric teen as long as he could assure himself that said teen was straight. The mafia was male dominated, so a straight Mello would assure Rand that at least seduction on the part of his boss's men would not be possible. Without that extra element of control, Mello would have less a chance of turning an entire mafia branch upside down and inside out with nothing but chocolate and his own sexuality.

Rand was too smart, all right. But Matt knew that Mello wouldn't give up on the plan just yet — wouldn't settle for less of a challenge unless shit _really_ hit the fan. So Matt would have to help, and the only way he could do that was to convince the skyscraper man that….

"Blondie here isn't a homosexual," he stated bluntly, polishing off his gin and tonic while Mello tightened his grip on his martini glass. "Take my word for it. If you stand around waiting for him to prove that on his own, you'll never get anywhere. Then the two of us will get pissed and you'll miss out on adopting a new member for the Family."

Rand kept his face straight. "That so? I'm hesitant to believe you after the games you've been playing with each other. It went beyond the line of partners. You could have easily convinced anyone that you were gay without going to such extremes."

"We like extremes. It's proof of how committed and bold we are." Matt grinned. "We both know how to play a role same as you do, and we proved it tonight, so don't let me hear you knock our methods." He noticed the way Mello's lips parted slightly, but still the blond didn't speak. Matt couldn't remember ever having done this much talking for them both in his life. There was a long, long pause.

"I don't believe you," Rand decided, and Matt met the man's eyes where they pierced him from a foot above his own height.

He played his trump card as the song in the background changed to something low and menacing. "You think I'm defending him because he's my partner and he's a flaming fucking homo. Well, you're wrong." He sloshed the ice around inside his glass. "The super gay homo is _me_, so accept this guy into the mafia already."

Mello swiveled around on his bar stool under the pretext of setting down his martini glass. Rand didn't miss a single detail in the movement, and his raised eyebrows suggested that he thought Mello's sudden reaction to be proof that Matt was lying. Matt resisted the urge to curse. It wasn't enough. He wasn't making it believable.

Suddenly, something moved behind the cowboy's dark boots. Matt allowed his gaze to shift for a brief second, long enough to notice the pattern of gold and black that wound between the legs of the other drinkers at the bar.

An idea struck him.

He pretended to ignore the cowboy and drop all pretenses. "What now, pussy cat?" Matt purred at Mello as if they were the only two at the bar. He slipped his arms around Mello's waist and buried his nose in the silken strands of Mello's hair, while Rand looked on, mystified. "He doesn't believe that I'm a gay man pretending to be a straight man acting gay. Tell him how I always crack homo jokes and try to get into your pants when we're not out on a mission."

Rand's dull eyes flew wide.

"Get off me," Mello demanded, and Matt couldn't tell if it was an honest response or an act. It didn't matter. Their adversary looked more convinced of Matt's queerness, and the plan was working.

Now for the icing on the cake, Matt thought, and gave himself the mental go ahead.

He lapsed into a high-pitched lisp and began to let his hands slide down Mello's hips. "Seriously, babe. It's proof you need to let me hook up with you. Brokeback here even thought you were gay, and you took us to a gay club…. You sure you don't secretly want me?" His hands were running hard and slow down Mello's thighs now.

The blond writhed — a convincing show of heterosexual discomfort. "No, I don't want you, damn it!"

Matt imitated the drag queen's sugary, puckered facial expression. "Yes you do, gorgeous." Then Matt whispered into Mello's ear, dropping the lisp in favor of a husky murmur for show in front of Rand. "Screw our plan to get you in with the mafia — it obviously hasn't worked. We've got free time now. Why don't you… let loose?"

Mello shifted on the barstool — moved a leg as if to stand and flee the scene.

Matt took advantage of the new position and used the opportunity to let his hand brush hard over the stretch of leather at Mello's crotch. He curled his fingers and applied pressure without warning.

Mello bit his lip, gripped the edge of the bar with knuckles white, and let slip a moan that was difficult to miss.

Music and lights washed over everything in a torrent of uninterrupted vibrations as Matt, Mello, and Rand froze in collective horror.

"Well shit," Matt murmured. "That backfired."

"I knew the blond one liked men," asserted the tall man at once.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Mello exploded in Matt's direction, resigning himself to fate and letting ire take over at last.

Matt searched frantically for an escape route that wouldn't be clogged by masses of dancers. "I thought that you knew how to play a role like L," he accused, and he saw the cowboy make a move. The cat was out of the bag.

Rand moved a menacing step forward. "Who are you two, really?" came the inquiry.

"Shit," Matt cursed, looking harder for his exit.

"Yes. Are there names that go with that?"

Mello shifted then, to toss his head back and drain his chocolate martini in one long pull. He slammed the glass onto the bar when he was done. "No names that you'll ever know," he said. His nose crinkled with an afterthought. "And you don't know how to dance."

"The leopard's back," Matt added to their adversary's chagrin, brightening. "Hey kitty — chomp Rand's leg."

The big cat cocked its head in confusion, and Rand turned to look at it. Matt seized Mello's arm and dragged him away from the bar. "This is when we leave."

"That was a dumb move, Matt," Mello answered.

Matt's every instinct was telling him to turn invisible, but Rand released a hoarse shout of opposition that garnered them sudden attention. Matt felt Mello slow down to a stroll beside him, so he reigned in his pace as well. Better to look like they were simply moving across the floor to find a good place to dance than fleeing for the exit. If they didn't want to get pegged as the cause of the sudden commotion, or targeted for hanging around, they had to get the fuck out while still trying to blend.

Standing out could get you killed.

Upon a cry from the crowd behind them, Matt turned his head. "Mello, he's on our tail, shoving through all the people," he announced. "I think maybe we should…."

"We're not going to run, Matt."

"Fuck, why not? This is the part in movies where someone always yells for people to run."

"My thighs are sore from dancing," Mello said, as the lights flashed blue and red over his features. But at another shout for them to stop, they broke into a jog. The crowd parted to let them pass; a sea of black with flecks of tattoos and metal receded from a sand of leopard print carpeting. Matt took the stairs up to the club's front door three at a time and burst out with Mello on his heels. The door banged into the wall with a crash and the hinges groaned in protest.

Two blocks down the street, Matt doubled over with his hands on his knees for support. "If he sends anyone after us, it's gonna suck. And you didn't even get in with them. We just got totally fucked by the mafia."

"No one fucked anyone," Mello retorted. "I don't see you walking funny."

"Oh, you're a real scream."

"Where's my jacket?" the blond asked next, wearily.

Matt stuffed his hands in his pockets and offered a wry smile. "On lucky rack number seven, back inside the club."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

They stood there listening to the chatter of the people on the streets — other clubbers on their way home, couples out for a late night walk in the city. Matt wondered how hard it would be to find another branch of the mafia for Mello to infiltrate, and if they'd have to leave Las Vegas to do it.

Suddenly he felt a nudge at the back of his ankle. Matt looked down.

"No way," he exclaimed.

"What?" Mello asked, rubbing his eyes as if to wipe away his lost chance at getting closer to Kira. It was a distant response; Mello's focus was elsewhere.

"Mello, we've got company." Matt grinned even as Mello jerked his eyes open and looked around for the potential threat.

"You mean it's not fucking over yet?" The blond deemed it safe to cease panicking only when Matt pointed. He followed Matt's finger, and his alertness melted into numb disbelief. "…No way." A flick of a tail.

_Way_, the leopard seemed to smirk at them both.

It grinned around the items that it carried in its mouth. Amber eyes glinted beneath the neon lights of the Las Vegas street.

Matt shook his head in wonder and knelt to lift the items from the feline's mouth. He gazed at his vest fondly and handed Mello his leather jacket, chuckling a little at the saliva that clung to it around killer teeth marks. "Lucky number seven," he remarked. "And you must have scared the shit out of that pierced lady at the coat check."

Mello was gaping between his jacket, Matt's vest, and the sleek golden jungle cat in consternation. "You've got to be kidding me," the blond said. The leopard flopped onto its hindquarters and tilted its head to one side.

"It must have slipped out when we took off and left the door wide open," Matt decided.

Mello continued to stare at the cat. Then, all at once, "Matt, I want to keep this thing as a pet."

Matt exchanged a surreptitious glance with the big feline. The leopard looked off down the street, past the rows of double parked cars to where the lights began to fade and the cityscape to dwindle.

"We live a city life, Mello," Matt ventured finally. "Alleyways and stuff. Homo nightclubs and gangsters. I think this cat's had enough of that. We should just let it go where it wants to go." He watched the leopard's ears twitch.

After a long second, Mello donned his jacket and looked away. "You're right."

The leopard stretched and nuzzled Matt once. It eyed Mello skeptically and began to slink off.

"See you, jungle cat," Matt called after it. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "I still think you're distinctly badass. And I'll… I'll miss you! I'll never forget you! You'll be in my memories forever and ever!"

"…Don't be gay, Matt."

"Says the one that got us into shit with his gayness in the first place," Matt muttered, his eyes still on the receding image of the leopard.

The vision of black spots grew smaller and smaller. Matt saw the leopard's head rotate in the direction of the nightclub's back alley as it took a wide turn to avoid detection. A few moments later, a golden tail disappeared around a telephone booth and was gone.

Matt stole a glance at Mello, who stood with all his weight on one leg and his arms crossed. They had time to figure out what they wanted. Maybe it didn't matter who was gay or straight or in between.

Matt shrugged on his vest, then pulled off his goggles to take in the Vegas lights unadulterated.

"The Red Leopard is the weirdest nightclub I've ever been to," he murmured.

"The weirdest," Mello agreed. Then, "Hey. You wanna go pet it?"

Matt shoved his hands into his pockets, pulled out his bus pass for the ride home, and winked seductively. "Me-ow."


End file.
